I love to go to the library
walk through stacks
and rows
of books,
picking whatever I like,
the books pull me in.
I can go on any adventure.
I can sit and read
all day,
worming through them,
reading out the whole shelf
I am at home
and somewhere else
at the same time.

One morning,
I saw spinning
planes thud
into tragedy, crumbling
around the whole of America;
everybody listened,
hushed.
We sipped up the sadness.
Hurt.

I know I am safe
in my house
with people I love.
I hear the rushing water
of the sighing waterfall.
Mom clicks away on her computer.
I can see my little sister sit
silently,
waiting for Dad.
I grab my book
so I can disappear
into a world
of happily ever after.

I see ash
and broken brick.
I am worried.
There are people
under there, too.
My heart drops.
I would not want to be there.
I do not want a war.
I think about other kids
my age
in different countries.
They must be scared.
The war might come to them.